


Reunited

by MrsAlot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Reunions, Sexual Assault, Slavery, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsAlot/pseuds/MrsAlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Decepticons have won the war... Deadlock walks the halls of the ship and finds a face he did not expect to ever see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunited

**Author's Note:**

> I've been going through some real shit recently... this came to me...
> 
> wanted to write something nasty/sweet

Deadlock walked through the ships corridors, all around could be herd the jubilant calls and laughter of his fellow Decepticons. After millennia of war. They had won.

After so much struggle and death and spilt Energon. Megatron had won, defeated Optimus and his Autobots and reclaimed Cybertron in the name of all free Cybertronians. Optimus was being held in solitary and those Autobots closes to him were in their custody. Their fates as yet to be decided. Deadlock figured they were either going to be executed or sent down into the bowls of their wounded planet to begin the restoration of their home. He hoped silently for the latter, there had been too much death…

He had attended a meeting with Megatron earlier that day. He had gathered all this faithful lieutenants and specialists together. The warlord had been pleased with their victory, had congratulated and commended them all for their efforts. He begun outlining his plans for the future. First they would gather back home and take stock of their losses and gains. Then they would make their world great once more, where all where equal and could choose their own destiny.   
Megatron had promised them, his most loyal and hard working followers many rewards, which included, dominion over lands and planets, rank, profit, the choice of their own paths in their new world and even including (If they so chose) An Autobot of their own. 

Many had been pleased with the announcement, a few already announcing who they would claim. He and the rest was not surprised that the warmonger had already decided to have his old adversary as his berth warmer. Though Deadlock didn’t refuse the generous offer, neither did he want it. He’d spent too long in his youth subject to the whims of others, used like personal property and thrown away like trash, as something less then sentient. He knew that what those poor souls would be subjected to, he would not condemn another mech to that.

Now, though, he found himself wondering the halls of this ship as they made their way back home. He had no friends among the Decepticons, they were a means to an end. They had given him a chance to rise up and make a difference. But that did not mean he liked them, he was alone and wanted to keep it that way. He had enough credits squirreled away to leave them and live very comfortably for the rest of his life, Megatron was going to see to it he would soon have even more. 

He would see what the warlord would offered him in his vision of new Cybertron. If it was palatable, he might stay, if not, he would take his leave and seek out his own path. Free from his past and the functionist and the society that had once held him so far down. So he would wait patiently, bide his time while the others revelled, so he merely walked around and took in the sights. A few groups had surprisingly asked him to join them… he graciously declined.   
He approached the holding block, where many captured high ranking Autobots were being held, and herd a great deal of commotion. Curiosity peeked he peered into the vast hall, there was a large group of Decepticons in front of the cells. They were entertaining themselves with one of the prisoners. Much to the distress of the held Autobots in the cells. He could see their horrified, distraught faces through the Energon bars.

The Autobot was on the floor, he’d probably been beaten and was now being subjected to a humiliating, degrading fragging on the holding cell block deck. He could just make out the wet squelch and rhythmic clank of metal on metal over the cheers and goading of the group. Deadlock could just make out a flashes of white and red plating through the throng of legs of his fellow Decepticons. If he had to guess, the assassin thought it was probably one of Optimus’s medical team. Cleaver but despicable tactic. Picking on one of the most cared for members of their team to demoralise the entire group. If he weren’t so appalled by the act he would have been impressed.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE’S A MEDIC!” A prisoner yelled, Prowl he thinks. Deadlock hummed, impressed that he’d guessed correctly, but he turned back around and made to go, while he wouldn’t deny the others their fun, he did not want to watch this. It brought back some uncomfortable memories of what he’d done to survive in the past…  
“Primus stop! Stop it! Please! Your going to kill him!” Came another yell as he started walking down the hall. Was that Bumblebees voice?  
“Pipe down!” Came a snarl and the sound of someone smacking the Energon bars. “Unless you wanna come out and join him!”  
“NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE! PLEASE!” Another Autobot cried out, despair clear in his voice. “RATCHET!” 

Deadlock froze… Energon lines running ice cold…

“Ratchet…” he murmured, repeating the name he hadn’t herd in so long… 

Old memories of a handsome face and gentle hands…. Bright blue optics and a kind smile… Soft words and a calm, reassuring EM field. Memories that had stayed with him, haunted him, guided him since he’d left that dead end clinic all those centuries ago. Memories of a mech that had shown him the first true kindness in his miserable life without expecting anything in return.

Without knowing, he had turned around, almost ran back into the holding cells and started forcing his way through the crowd. Shoving mechs roughly out of the way to get to the centre. What he saw was a depraved and horrifying. It made his tanks roll with sickness, the seen was like something form a twisted porn vid.  
The old medic was battered, broken and bleeding between three other mechs. He was being harshly taken from both ends. Two Con’s were mercilessly pounding into the Autobot, one from under him and the other from behind. His valve stretched wide over the pair of Spikes sliding relentlessly in and out of him. The amount of Transfluid running down the doctors aft and thighs clearly showed they were not the first to do this. His white plating smeared grotesquely with his own Energon and others splattered transfluid. A large tank mech was ruthlessly ramming his spike deep down the medics throat, the poor doctors mouth stretched so far it looked like his lips had split, causing Energon to run down his chin along with oral fluid. 

Most spark breaking of all was what looked like a number of circuit speeders that had been jacked into his fuel lines. It made his tank heave. Drift knew all too well what those things did. They could either heighten your senses to the point of making your brain implode or send you to another world where you never wanted to leave. From the look on the medic face it was the first. The poor doctors suffering was heightened by the drugs now coursing through his neural net. Being forced to feel everything they did to him at a painful intensity. Being acutely aware of his own body and surroundings then ever before. It must be maddening.

The reek of transfluid thick in the air made his olfactory sensors burn. How long had the medic been forced to endure this torment?  
A rage he’d never known, even in his darkest battles, flared white hot inside him. It was released in a cry so chilling it would give even Unicron the shivers. The next moments were a blur, he moved without thinking, blaster drawn and proceeded to slaughter the mechs that had dare lay their hands on the healer. Deadlock blasted a hole through the tanks chest before pulling the other two off the wounded mech. He began tearing them apart at the seams with his bare hands. Their cries only fuelling his rage and desire to make them pay for what they had done to the old doctor.

It was only when they were nothing but soaking scrap metal did the crazed hitman stop. He huffed, his engines roaring, running high form anger and adrenalin from the kills. Deadlock snarled at them, yellow optic’s alight with murderous intent. Covered in Energon and blaster drawn as he stood protectively over the Doctor. Everyone falling deathly silent and still, even the Autobots in the cadge. Anyone who had a hand on the mech was now laying dead on the ground.  
The only sound was Deadlocks heavy intakes and the old medic coughing and spluttered at his feet. Shaking, the poor mech was retching now that his intake was free from unwelcome intrusion. He purged his tanks, expelling transfluid and Energon. Reeling from the assault and affects of the speeders. He flopped to the deck with a clang, instinctually curled up on himself, trying to minimise the input his heightened sensors were screaming at him. His whole body was on fire, his throat burnt and he couldn’t even describe.

Everything hurt so much, beyond any pain he’d ever known, everything was too bright, smelt too strong, tasted too strong… his fuel tanks rolling, he was fighting the urge to purge again… the thought and taste of the transfluid he had been forced to swallow made him feel sick. Everything was so loud… he didn’t know what had happened. There was pain and horrible unwanted sensations. Servos grabbing him, touching him and… then it suddenly stopped. There was so much noise, it made his audios hurt. He didn’t know what had happened… but he was grateful… he didn’t know how much more he could take…  
“Thermo sheeting.” Deadlock hissed lowly. When no one moved he snapped. “NOW!” Everyone flinch. Someone scrambled and pulled out a blanket form a locker and quickly handed it to the Decepticon hitman. The Dark faced mech snatched it and knelt smoothly down, carefully draping the thick sheeting over the shivering mess of a medic. Covering him form view and giving him back some of his stolen dignity.

Though his face remained stony and grim, inside his spark was broken. Ratchet was wounded badly and glitching. His armour scuffed and dented, one of the prominent points of his chevron had been snapped, leaving a nasty jagged edge. Deadlock carefully extended his EM field, gently brushing it over the hurting bot. He tried to extend as much comfort to the old mech as he could. He ran a tender hand over the medics helm.

The quaking bot felt the sudden gentle pet to his head, the soft caress of an EM field. Such a contrast to what had felt only moments ago. Ratchet dared to open his eye’s, one of his optic was cracked, the crystal lenses having a spider web across its surface, making his already too bright and distorted vision blurry. There was a dark shadowy figure over him, the intense light coming from behind making it difficult to distinguish detail. The only truly striking thing he could see was set in the dark face was a pair of glowing yellow eye’s like two suns blazing that hung in space. Somewhere deep in his memory… something stirred…  
Deadlock looked down into damaged blue optics. Even though unfocused and through the haze of speeders and pain, there was recognition there. Those optics he’d remembered fondly, they had once been so full of kindness and hope and gentle understanding. That face that had smiled at him and had told him without any falsehood that he believed in him and that he was special. 

The handsome medic that had whispered and muttered beautiful prayers under his breath as he worked to save his worthless life. Now his face was lined with micro fractures, metal wrinkles from stress and too many years hardship. Under his optics and around his mouth. Deadlock found them strangely endearing.   
“D-dri-ft?” Ratchet croaked, his voice glitching and full of static. It sent a ripple of surprise throughout the crowd. It astounded Deadlock that even after all these centuries Ratchet still remembered a dirty little gutter Junker like him.

“No…I’m not Drift, not anymore.” The younger mech said quietly, wiping some of the dead mechs fluid off the medic’s face with his thumb. Primus, even after all these millennia and being covered in other Cybertronians filth and Energon, the doctor was still just as handsome as he remembered. He felt his spark flutter when the medic lean into his gentle touch.

An overwhelming surge of protectiveness arose within. He had a duty to this mech, a debt of honour to him, and it seemed his Spark was screaming at him to intervene and rescue him from this nightmare. Deadlock had never been one to believe in a ‘cosmic force’, the theory that everyone was bound together or even destiny. Yet it had to be more the just coincidence that the medic that had saved his life, was now in such desperate need? Their rolls reversed. Was it strange that his spark once again felt that warm swell when he looked at him, the way it had done all that time ago…

Mind set and decision made, he carefully gathered up the mech. The Decepticon made sure the blanket was securely wrapped round Ratchet, covering his abused and soiled body. He helped him slowly to his feet. Trying to ignore the sound of fluid that ran freely form the poor Autobots sore and violated valve. The medic whimpered, in both pain and embarrassment, his shaky legs threatening to give way any moment. He’d never felt so used or dirty.

Seeing the Doctors distress, Deadlock put an arm around his waist, pulling him close so Ratchet could lean on him, supporting him on his shaking peds. Letting his EM Field envelop the medic with reassurance, offering comfort. He was pleased when the medic responded almost instantly, resting heavily against him. Red servo gripping onto his armour, the Autobots own field a heady mix of relief, anguish and pain. It only fuelled the Hitman’s anger as he turned his bright glare on the still silent mechs surrounding them.

“I should gut you all right here!” He hissed, almost regretting it as it made the medic flinch against him. “What are you? A pack of filthy animals?! How dare you treat another Cybertronian in such a way!” Okay, so maybe he was getting on a high horse a little late when earlier he was willing to let them have their fun, but after seeing them hurting one he’d cared for, it threw everything in a drastic, startling light. He didn’t want to see it happen to anyone again. Didn’t want anyone else to go though the pain of seeing that. No one, not even prisoners of war really deserved to be humiliated and violated in such a way. He was quietly confident that even Megatron would agree with him…

“No one… touches them!” He yelled so he knew everyone could hear him. “You are to treat the prisoners with basic respect! Or you will answer to me! Understand?!” There were a muted but audible murmurs of ‘yes sir’ from around the room, a good number of them even had the decency to look ashamed of themselves for their part in the whole sordid affair. Just to add a little more fear into their lives he added. “And for those of you who had their fun before I arrived… you all better pray I never find out… or you will end up as fragging scrap metal like your friends on the floor…” 

Satisfied he’d made his point and frightened them into leaving the remaining Autobots alone, the Decepticon secured his hold on the still shaking mech and gently started to guide him to the door. He would not see the doctor thrown back into the cell after what he’d just been through. Ratchet needed urgent medical treatment. He would take him back to his quarters, call Flatline. He needed to make sure they hadn’t given him anything too bad. That they hadn’t damaged him internally. He’d get him cleaned up and let him sleep off the speeders on his soft berth in the safety of his rooms. 

“Wait sir!” A very brave or very foolish guard suddenly spoke up. “Y-You can’t take the prisoners from the holding cell!” Deadlock stopped. Ah… there was that problem. It would cast a very suspicious light on him if he suddenly started protecting Autobots, rescuing one and taking very good care of one for no reason. There was only one thing he could say or do to both protect Ratchet and himself. 

“Lord Megatron had decreed that his lieutenants and trusties receive token Autobot as a victory prize.” He said smoothly. “I like the look of this one…”   
“You like the look of scuzzy used old Autobot?” A large helicopter laughed. “Ew! You do know, there’s like a dozen others here that are in better condition and don’t have a tone of other mechs transfluid insi-” Deadlock moved so fast the disgusting mech didn’t have chance to finish his sentence. The bots helm casing and fluids spread across the wall where the hitman had blasted it from his shoulders. The body staggered, falling to it’s knees, then slamming to the floor. You could hear a nanite fart it was so quiet. 

“I will say this only once… Anybot ever dares call him something other then respectable and I swear to holy primus you will die with your spark chamber in your mouth!” He growled dangerously, blowing the smoking barrel of his pistol before subspaceing it. “I will not tolerate anyone disrespecting my prize.”  
Even with him in the Decepticons protective embrace, Ratchet wanted to yell in protest… he wasn’t a prize or some commodity for Megatron to give away, but he was shamed and humiliated beyond words. Hurt and in pain. He just wanted to get away form the judgmental optics of the Decepticons and his fellow Autobots. Of all the mechs in the universe he thought would save him, it would not have guessed it would be the famed, crazed and deadly Deadlock. He never would of guessed that he’d want to be saved by him either.

Deadlocks embrace was strong and secure. His EM field, though tinged with anger had an overwhelming level of reassurance and tenderness. It was comforting, soft and warm as the blanket around his solid body. The younger mech ushered him out of the holding cells and into a turbo lift. Away from the crowd, the medic finely broke and sobbed into the Decepticons neck. They had lost the war and now he was nothing more then a toy to be used, given away and claimed. After all the years spent fighting, this was his reward. This was to be his fate. Deadlock said nothing, only holding him tighter, offering what comfort he could. He understood the despair the doctor must be feeling.

“Don’t worry Ratchet… your safe now… I won’t let anyone to ever touch you again…” he said softly, pressing his mouth against the medics damaged helm crest. “I’ll take care of you… I promise… you don’t need to worry about anything… your mine now…”

Though Ratchet dreaded what he meant and what it would mean for him in the future. He found himself less concerned then he should have been. He had always remembered the young mech that Orion had brought into his clinic. He would never forget that handsome face and those beautiful yellow optics. Though the life of the Decepticons more feared and crazed assassin was not what he’d meant when he said to make something of himself… right now he was grateful…

The mech holding him was not the desperate and lost bot he’d treated… he was strong… confident and powerful… He had proven he was not gutter trash and was more then what their old society had classed him as. A bizarre tranquillity feeling suddenly fell upon him… maybe it was the speeders affecting his sensors, making him misinterpreted the other mechs field or words… but he didn’t believe the mech would harm him… not like the others had… he closed he optics and just rested his aching frame against Deadlocks.

For the first time is what seemed like forever… he felt safe… Drift may be gone… but Deadlock would look after him…


End file.
